


all the kissing

by wearing_tearing



Series: Sterek Prompt Fills [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Non-Consensual Touching, Possessive Stiles Stilinski, Protective Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 16:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4356056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Stiles, Derek’s husband. Now would you kindly take your hands off of him?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	all the kissing

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from [tumblr](http://dylansneck.tumblr.com/post/124260309849/dad-derek-being-friends-with-all-of-the-soccor).
> 
> **warnings** for brief mentions of past kate argent  & jennifer blake related trauma and non-consensual stomach touching.

“Are you sure we’re ready for this?”

“You say that every year,” Derek says, rubbing a hand up and down Stiles’s back. “And every year we’re fine.”

“Last year one of the kids ate too many hotdogs and threw up,” Stiles reminds him, eyes taking in the plastic chairs and tables spread over their backyard. “The year before that our son got stuck on a tree.”

“Bobby’s parents should have been watching him,” Derek says with a grimace. “And Noah found a way to get himself down.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Stiles asks, preening a little.

Derek lets himself smile a little. “Yes, so stop worrying. We’ll be fine.”

“Next time I volunteer us for hosting the end of the year barbecue, please stop me.”

“And deprive you from showing off your grilling skills?” Derek teases, wrapping an arm around Stiles’s waist.

Stiles sniffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Derek huffs, and then presses a kiss to the side of Stiles’s head.

“It’s not my fault everyone’s jealous of how good I am at grilling,” Stiles shrugs. “It’s a _talent_.”

“It’s poking meat until it’s cooked,” Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles gasps, offended, and pokes Derek in the chest. “You take that back.”

Derek grabs Stiles’s finger and traps Stiles’s hand against his chest, turning Stiles to him until the can lean down and press their lips together. Stiles makes a little annoyed sound in the back of his throat but doesn’t push Derek away. Instead, he gets his free hand around the back of Derek’s neck, pulling him closer, and kisses him back.

“Ugh, Dad, Papa, _stop_.”

Derek breaks the kiss and turns around, only to see their twelve year old son standing by the door, his arms crossed over his chest and nose scrunched up in disgust.

“What?” Stiles asks, his eyes narrowed and glinting. “Were we bothering you?”

“You were being gross,” Noah says. “And people will be here soon. They don’t need to see all the _kissing_.”

“But no one’s here yet,” Stiles replies, waving a hand around their empty living room. “So that means we can keep kissing.”

“Please don’t do this me,” Noah asks, bottom lip jutting out in a pout and his green eyes widening a little.

Derek has to bite down on his cheek not to laugh, his heart flipping in his chest. Because that, right there? That’s _all Stiles_ , trying to get away with something or making someone else feel sorry for him.

Good thing for Derek he’s been immune to that for the last, oh, twenty years or so.

And he knows the same can be said about Stiles, who exchanges a look with Derek, his lips curling up in a smirk and his eyes lighting up with mischief.

They both glance back at Noah, who goes suddenly still. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Stiles lunges, catching Noah by the waist and lifting him up. Derek comes up behind them and wraps his arms around them both, both because he wants to and also to keep Noah from squirming and running away from them.

“What did you say about kissing?” Stiles asks, pressing kisses all over Noah’s face and hair. “It’s okay until everyone gets here?”

“ _Dad_!” Noah yells, laughing despite himself. “No kissing!”

“All the kissing!” Stiles yells back, and then glances up at Derek. “Aren’t you going to help?”

Derek grins, all fondness and love.

And then he helps.

*

Stiles watches Derek make his way around their yard, saying hello to parents and Noah’s classmates alike.

“You know, sometimes it still surprises me how nice he can be to people.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, not even bothering to turn around.

“He was your wife’s maid of honor at your wedding. You know _exactly_ how nice he can be to people.”

Scott grins, knocking their shoulders together. “But Kira’s one of his best friends. These people are all strangers.”

“Derek goes jogging with Jessica’s mom every Wednesday and Friday mornings,” Stiles tells him, smiling at the way Scott’s eyebrows practically climb to his hairline. “He and Thomas’s mother have a yearly bet to see who can sew the best Halloween costume for their kids. There’s also the standing appointment for Thursday brunch with half the moms on the PTA. _And_ the book club.”

“Dude,” Scott blinks.

Stiles nods. “Derek’s _integrated_. I don’t even want to think about what all these people will do once Noah starts high school. I think there might be tears involved.”

“I’d cry too if I had to say goodbye to Derek,” Kira says, coming up to them. She has her and Scott’s three year old daughter, Emi, perched on her hip. Their twelve year old, Matt, is currently running around the backyard with Noah and their other friends. “When can we eat?”

“Soon.”

“But we’re hungry,” Kira says, looking down at Emi. “Aren’t we?”

Emi nods, her little arms wrapped around Kira’s neck.

“Not even my cute goddaughter can rush perfection.”

“You’re too attached to your grill,” Scott says, shaking his head at him. “It’s not healthy, man.”

Stiles points the spatula at him. “Do you want to eat only greens this entire barbecue? Because I’ll make you.”

Scott pouts.

Kira leans in against Scott’s side and whispers, “I’ll sneak you food.”

“Traitor!”

Kira and Scott both smile at him, Scott looking more smug than anything else. But before Stiles can say anything else, something catches his attention across the yard. And that something is _not good_.

*

As close as Derek is to most of Noah’s classmates’s mothers, there are still a few who he doesn’t really get along with. Either it be because they don’t approve of him being married to a man and them raising a son together or because they don’t _care_ he’s married to a man and they’re raising a son together.

Derek knows what he looks like. He knows he’s attractive, knows that he’s aged well, not just because of Stiles telling him how gorgeous he is - inside and out - whenever he gets the chance, but also because of the way some people look at him.

He always thought it was a bit strange for a wolf to feel like prey, but he’s endlessly uncomfortable with the way some people regard him just because of his looks. It makes his skin crawl, sometimes, with the hungry looks and obvious stares. It makes him feel like he’s nothing more than meat to them, nothing more than entertainment, nothing more than a _pretty little toy_.

It’s been a really long time since Kate Argent and Jennifer Blake, but Derek now knows that trauma like that doesn’t ever really go away. It gets better, and he’s learned ways to deal with the mess they made of him, but the recovery is not linear.

So when he’s suddenly accosted by one of the divorced mothers in his own backyard and feels her hand press over his chest and slide down his stomach as she congratulates him on what a _wonderful job_ he did with the barbecue, Derek doesn’t have one of the best reactions.

Meaning his first instinct is to lash out and get as far away from her as possible.

Only just as he’s about to wolf out, just as he’s about to claw her first and tell her to fuck off later, he feels another set of hands settle on his hips. A set of familiar hands, warm and firm and safe. And those hands are accompanied by the sweet scent of _family_ and soap and sweat and _Stiles_.

And a second later he hears, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Stiles, Derek’s husband. Now would you kindly take your hands off of him?”

*

Stiles wouldn’t say he’s a possessive person.

You know, except for the times when he _totally fucking is_.

It doesn’t happen all that often. He’s grown a lot from the insecure teenager he was at sixteen, and he’s learned to value and love himself for exactly the way that he is. So he’s pretty secure about his relationship with Derek and what they are to each other, especially since they’ve been together for around twenty years and have been raising a family for twelve of those.

When it happens, though, it comes from that deep part of himself that just wants to _protect_ those he loves, those he considers _his_. Scott teases him about it, says that running with wolves has turned Stiles part wolf himself; all protective instincts and righteous anger and no chill about taking care of the people he loves.

Which is why as soon as he sees Miss Davis - formerly known as Mrs. Jefferson - walking up to Derek and _cornering_ him beside one of the beverage tables, Stiles is handing Scott the grill spatula, telling Kira to make sure Scott doesn’t burn anything, and he’s pretty much _running_ towards Derek.

And when he notices that Miss Davis actually has a _hand_ on Derek’s stomach, he kind of wishes he didn’t let Scott have the spatula after all. The only reason he’s not more disappointed is because he catches the flash of gold in Derek’s eyes, and he knows that if he doesn’t intervene right at that second, someone’s gonna end up hurt.

That someone being Miss Davis.

Stiles is trying to feel sorry about it, but he’s not being that successful. He’ll definitely be more hurt that he couldn’t dazzle everyone with his grilling skills than because someone who touched someone without their consent got a few deep scratches.

That still doesn’t mean he doesn’t rush up to Derek, getting behind him and plastering his front to Derek’s tense back, his hands finding their way to Derek’s hips.

Stiles smiles, tight and nasty and dangerous, and looks right at Miss Davis’s eyes and says, “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Stiles, Derek’s husband. Now would you kindly take your hands off of him?”

Miss Davis splutters, her hand falling from Derek’s body to rest at her sides, curling into a fist. “I’m sorry, I had no idea-”

“I’m not sure how you could have missed it,” Stiles snaps. “With the ring on his left finger and the mailbox with Stilinski-Hale written on it in our front yard.”

“I didn’t know you were-”

“A man?” Stiles asks, watching as Miss Davis’s face goes from pale to an unhealthy shade of red. “Because it would be okay for you to hit on someone else’s husband if he was married to a woman?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, low and surprisingly calm for someone who had been on the verge of ripping a person’s face off just a minute ago.

Stiles takes a deep breath, hold tightening on Derek’s hips. “I’m not going to ask you to leave because your son seems to be having fun,” Stiles tells Miss Davis. “It wouldn’t be fair to him missing out on playing with his friends because his mother thinks our marriage is worth less than any other couple’s just because we’re two guys. But do _not_ come anywhere near Derek again, do you understand me? Or I will arrest you for harassment.”

Stiles has to admit he gets a little thrill of pleasure at the way Miss Davis’s eyes widen in horror at that. And sure, he might be exaggerating a bit about what he would do, but he knows just how much Derek _hates_ having strange people in his space like that, touching him without his permission, just because they think they’re allowed to and are entitled to due to his looks.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Beacon Hills Deputy right here,” Stiles tells her. “I _would_.”

Miss Davis doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even _apologize_. She just turns her back to them, her hands still clenched at her sides, and walks to one of the many empty plastic tables set up in their yard. She does glance back at them once she’s sitting down, her face set in a scowl.

Stiles glares back.

You know, until he feels Derek turns around in his arms. Then he has much better things to pay attention to.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” Derek nods, bumping their noses together. “Thank you, though. I was about to-”

“I know,” Stiles sighs, lips turning down. “I saw your eyes. I know how much you hate when people just _touch_ you without asking, like they’re _allowed_.”

“They’re not,” Derek murmurs, his arms coming around Stiles’s shoulders.

“Damn right. You’re not _theirs_. You’re a person and you deserve to have your boundaries and limits be respected.”

“I know,” Derek tells him. “I’m okay now, I promise.”

“Do you need me to back off?” Stiles asks, because he knows sometimes Derek prefers not to have someone else too close whenever things like that happen.

“No, but thank you for asking.”

“Of course,” Stiles says, and now he pulls Derek closer. “Does this mean I can kiss you breathless and horrify our son at the same time I show that woman just how in love we are?”

Derek laughs a small laugh, and then he’s the one closing the distance between them and kissing Stiles, slow and deep and _with tongue_. Stiles can practically hear Noah fake-gagging somewhere in the yard. That still doesn’t stop him from pressing closer, from sucking Derek’s tongue into his mouth, from showing everyone that _he’s_ the one Derek chose to love, to spend the rest of his life with.

“You’re _my_ husband,” Stiles breathes out against Derek’s lips. “Just mine. I’m the only one who can touch you like that, and only when you want me to.”

“Won’t argue with that,” Derek says, pecking Stiles on the lips. “And same goes for you.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Stiles kisses Derek again, just one more time, for good measure.

You know, until he hears someone say, “Ugh, Dad, Papa, not _again_.”


End file.
